


Chocolate-Caramel Ecstasy

by blue_wonderer



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Meet-Cute, Part-Time Barista!Barry, Still-a-thief!Len, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 02:18:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13560594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_wonderer/pseuds/blue_wonderer
Summary: "Barry glances up to see Len looking down at where Barry’s hand is touching his naked chest. Flushing, Barry jerks his hand away, and Len’s eyes follow until he’s looking at Barry and they’re just… they’re just really,reallyclose. So close that Barry is suddenly very conscious of Len’s lips and his own lips and the proximity of both to each other."Near midnight, Barry is just finishing closing down when he finds an injured man just outside of the coffee shop.





	Chocolate-Caramel Ecstasy

Barry had just thrown his messenger bag over his shoulder and was reaching for his rain coat and Missouri Tigers tumbler when something smacked against the coffee shop window. 

Wary of break-ins and guns, he immediately ducks behind the counter, wide-eyed, and suddenly very aware of the late hour (a few minutes ‘til midnight) and how alone he is (why had he told Kendra to go ahead and leave half an hour ago while he finished closing?). He reaches out, bracing himself against a shelf with one hand and peering slowly from around the counter. He winces when his hand knocks over a stack of cups, which topple and hit the floor at his feet with the sound equivalent to at least ten bass drums. It’s dark inside the shop, he’d just turned the lights off a few minutes ago, but he knows the emergency lights in the hall to the right shines like a spotlight on him. 

It’s dark and raining heavily outside, so it takes him a moment to see the slumped figure—a man, maybe, it was a little hard to be sure—against the window. Barry has time to register a dark shadow on his face that shouldn’t be there—blood?—before he’s scrambling toward the locked doors. Outside, the rain blows in totally regardless of the shop’s awning, nearly blinding him as he rushes to the man. The January wind bites through his clothes like it’s tissue paper. 

He reaches for a shoulder, but the man flinches violently into the window with another thud at Barry’s first touch. He teeters like the stack of cups did and Barry determinedly reaches out again, this time grasping the man’s clothes to keep him from falling. 

He’s pretty sure the man says something to him, but he can’t hear it over the rain. 

“It’s OK!” Barry shouts. “I’m not going to hurt you! Come inside!” He pulls lightly toward the doors, trying to encourage the man to follow him. 

The man turns to him then, and Barry has the impression of a handsome face before the stranger ducks his head against the freezing wind and rain and lets Barry take some of his weight. He gets them inside and re-locks the doors before quickly hauling the stranger around shadowed tables, couches, and chairs and towards the emergency lighting and the hallway where the bathrooms and the employee break room are. 

He flicks on the light to the breakroom and sits the stranger down on the small couch. The lighting reveals that, yes, there is definitely blood running down the guy’s face. 

“Crap,” Barry sighs and repeats under his breath like a chant as he jogs back out to the counter where he grabs the first aid kit, several dish towels, his messenger bag, and his Missouri Tigers mug. 

He returns and unloads his burden on the table and tugs at the guy’s jacket. “Off.” It’s soaking wet and freezing to the touch. Barry’s shivering himself and a glance at the man’s pale face and whitened lips tells him that his body temperature is dropping fast. 

“After dinner,” the man slurs quietly before slowly shaking his head, like he’s shaking off a daze. When he speaks again his voice is clearer. “Clothes come off after at least two dates. I usually also know the other person’s name.” 

Barry snorts as he opens the first aid kit. “Barry.” 

“…Len,” the man grits out between his teeth as he works off his jacket. Barry glances over, concerned, and swears lightly when he sees more blood on Len’s side. 

“We should call an ambulance,” Barry grimaces as he reaches for his cell phone.

“Wait,” Len says weakly, reaching out and wrapping long fingers around Barry’s wrist. “It's—It’s not that bad. I’ll just go.” 

“What?” Barry says, incredulous. “That needs stitches.” 

“No ambulances. I can just go home.” 

“You can just shut up and take your shirt off,” Barry says, because the man is still bleeding and _talking_ about it is making him bleed longer and all over himself and the couch. “And _stop_ bleeding on the couch,” Barry commands like Len can possibly control his own bleeding. “My boss is going to fire me.” 

Len lets go and reaches for his shirt, smirking despite his obvious pain. 

Barry roots around briefly before unearthing a small fleece blanket that they keep because the heat doesn’t always circulate well in the break room. He drapes it as best as he can around Len’s shoulders and arms while still leaving himself enough room to work. It’s then that Len looks up at him with blue, _blue_ eyes that make Barry swallow nervously in a way that the blood didn’t. 

He sits beside Len on the couch and works his side first, gently toweling off the blood before cleaning it out. The gash is ugly and definitely needs a couple of stitches, but the damage isn’t as bad as he thought. “Was this caused by metal?” Barry asks. 

Len tenses, like he might move away, and without thinking about it Barry reaches up and places a hand on Len’s chest. “Don’t, I’m just now getting it to slow down.” 

“I… fell,” Len says measuredly. “There may have been a fire escape involved.” 

Barry glances up to see Len looking down at where Barry’s hand is touching his naked chest. Flushing, Barry jerks his hand away, and Len’s eyes follow until he’s looking at Barry and they’re just… they’re just really, _really_ close. So close that Barry is suddenly very conscious of Len’s lips and his own lips and the proximity of both to each other. Mouth suddenly dry he reaches over and grasps his Tigers tumbler and shoves it unceremoniously at Len. 

“It’s coffee,” he blurts out. “I made it to take home with me tonight. Uhm. It’s hot. You’re still—shivering. So. Yeah.” 

Len raises his uninjured eyebrow and quirks his lips (that are still stupidly close to Barry and also ridiculously pretty) and takes the tumbler while Barry becomes studiously focused on Len’s side. “You’ll still need stitches,” Barry says and counts it a miracle that his voice doesn’t crack embarrassingly. With the bleeding finally stopped, he efficiently applies butterfly bandages and tries not to think about every second that his fingertips graze across Len’s ribs. “And you should probably consider a tetanus shot.” 

“Lovely,” Len drawls out before he takes a drink. He makes a face and looks dubiously at the mug. “Barry. What is this?” 

“Uhm?” Barry asks. “Chocolate-Caramel Ecstasy?” _Why_ was he framing everything as a question? “It’s one of the favorites here?” 

“Is there even coffee in this? Because all I taste is syrup.”

Barry huffs and goes to snatch it back. “Well if you don’t want it—”

Len pulls the mug out of Barry’s reach, scowling. “No, it’s mine.” 

Barry scowls right back at him. “Well then drink it, be still, and stop complaining.” 

“Tell me,” Len says as Barry gently cradles the back of his head and starts cleaning his face of blood with another towel. “Are you this bossy to all of your customers?” 

“Not usually,” Barry huffs, scooting closer for a better angle and making a concentrated effort not to blush when their thighs touch. “But you’re not a paying customer, are you? I don’t have to be nice.” 

There’s a faint smudge of red still caked in a place or two near Len’s hairline, but Barry manages to get the majority off his face, jaw, and neck. The wound itself is still ebbing slowly, so Barry presses some gauze against it to get it to stop. 

“I think you’re being fairly nice, playing nurse to a stranger at midnight,” Len finally says, quietly. 

Barry blinks at the tone, opens his mouth, but can’t quite find anything to say. “Drink,” he says, tapping the back of Len’s hand. Len grimaces like a man about to go on a battlefield and brings the drink up to his lips again. 

Barry checks the cut, decides that it’s stopped bleeding, and bandages it. “There,” he says, smiling as he brings his hands down. “Done. Good as new. Well. Good-ish.” 

Len tilts his head, studying him, and Barry becomes very aware of the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones, and his brain keeps waxing all poetical about those freaking blue eyes. And then Len’s gaze drops down, eyelashes fanning distractedly, and Barry follows his gaze. His hand is resting on Len’s thigh. 

“Right!” Barry blurts out, jerking his hand away and standing up so quickly his head rushes. “Clothes.” He digs into his messenger bag, _does not look at Len_ , and practically throws his CCPD sweats into the other man’s arms. “So, yeah. Because you’re… wet. And cold. And should change.” 

Len sets down the mug and throws off the blanket, making to stand up. He winces and falters a little and Barry quickly catches him his good side. 

“My hero,” Len snarks, eyes meeting Barry’s and—

“Right,” Barry repeats, letting go and backing up. “I’ll leave you to—er—” he gestures to the spare clothes and abruptly spins around, throwing his hand out when he almost walks right into the doorframe. He beats a hasty retreat, Len’s short and low chuckle chasing his wake. He goes to the counter, cleans up the cups, brings the mop back out to sop up the rain water they trailed in. Then he pulls out the day’s leftover cookies and scones he’d saved earlier for a snack for the next shift, packs them in a bag, and heads back to the employee room just in time to see Len finish pulling his boots back on. 

“Big fan of the CCPD, Barry?” Len asks, pointing to the sweats and raising his eyebrows, which immediately makes him wince in remembered pain.

“Part-time employee, actually,” Barry shrugs. “New CSI—well, assistant. It’s only been a few weeks, actually. I don’t have a lot of hours yet, so I still work here.” 

Len looks like he’s caught somewhere between wary and intrigued. Barry clears his throat and holds out the bag of sweets. “Here. It’s, uhm. Good to eat something. After blood loss.” 

Len reaches out, takes the bag, and definitely lets his fingers idle over Barry’s skin. 

Barry opens his mouth—which is _really_ alarming, because as far as he knows his brain hasn’t actually planned on saying anything—when a pounding knock sounds at the front. Barry frowns, turning his head, even though there are a few walls and a hallway between him and a view of the front. He takes a hesitant step, intending to go investigate, when Len reaches out and grasps him by the elbow. 

“Len?” Barry asks, confused, wondering if Len lost his balance again. 

But the other man just smiles crookedly at him. He sets down the bag before framing Barry’s face with his hands, which are a lot warmer now than they were when Barry first dragged him inside. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I think it’s obvious, Barry,” Len says before he kisses him. It’s soft and slow and Barry, for the lack of anything else to do (and also because he really wants to), immediately opens up to it. He reaches down, clutches at Len’s good side with one hand, and presses fingertips into the back of Len’s neck with the other. And then Len’s hands fall to Barry’s hips and Barry just kind of… _moans_. Just a little. This seems to be a good thing, though, judging by the way Len surges forward, walking them backward until Barry is pressed against the wall and Len is pressed into him. 

It’s a good kiss. It’s a _really very good_ kiss. 

The pounding comes again. Longer. Louder. It creeps into Barry’s awareness until he finally has to turn his head away. For a few seconds Barry’s entire night is filled with blue, with the sound of their breathing and the feel of Len’s body against his. 

The knock sounds again. 

“I should…” Barry whispers and Len closes his eyes, takes a step back. Barry goes with him, still holding on. 

“Barry,” Len murmurs, gently, and Barry blinks the last of the haze away. 

“Right, I'll—be right back.” He lets go first, walks backward until Len is forced to let go of his waist. 

Barry smiles at him then, big and wide, and he thinks the heart beating cartoonishly in his chest has to be clearly visible to anyone with eyes. 

Len smirks back. Barry turns and jogs off. 

Joe is at the door, along with Chyre and another officer Barry hasn’t met yet. Concerned, Barry picks up his pace and unlocks the doors, ushering Joe and the others in out of the rain. 

“Thank God,” Joe sighs, placing a hand on Barry’s shoulder. “I couldn’t get you on the phone and I knew you still might be in the area. Why are you wet?” 

“I’m fine,” Barry quickly assures. “What’s wrong?” 

“There was a robbery a few streets over. One of the suspects—Leonard Snart—escaped on foot from where we’d cornered the crew on a rooftop. He was heading in this direction.” 

“Could be hurt,” Chyre adds gruffly, eyes still scanning the street outside. “Got in a brief scuffle with him and he fell.” 

“You see anything, Barr?” 

_Leonard Snart,_ Barry thinks. _Len._

Joe must see the way Barry’s eyes drift towards the hallway, where a light clearly shines from the employee break room. 

“Barry,” Joe breathes, seeming to glean part of the story from Barry’s mind in a way only the man who helped raise him can. He reaches out and gently moves Barry behind him as he draws his gun. “Are you OK?”

“What? Y-yeah, Joe. I’m fine. Listen, I don’t think—”

But Chyre has been Joe’s partner for years and is already following his lead, even if he’s not sure why. He’s drawn his gun as well and flanks Joe as he moves forward. The third officer follows in a similar fashion. 

“Joe—” Barry tries, wildly thinks of shouting to warn Len, but it’s not needed. Joe is already at the break room, gun aimed inside. He frowns, peers questioningly at Barry, and then moves to the bathrooms, kicking open the doors with Chyre and the other covering him. Barry frowns, too, and walks after them, peeking in to the break room. 

Len is gone. So are his clothes, the bag of cookies and scones, and Barry’s Tigers tumbler. 

“Look here,” Chyre calls and the three of them gravitate towards the back door. It’s closed, but even in the poor lighting they can see rain water still gleaming on the floor from where the back door had recently been opened. 

Chyre sighs and calls it in, walking off with the other officer in tow. Joe holsters his piece and pulls Barry into a tight hug. “I didn’t think working at a coffee shop would be more dangerous than working at the station,” Joe sighs into Barry’s hair. 

“Joe,” Barry says, swallowing. “I’m fine. I promise.” 

“Come on,” Joe says, leaning back and patting Barry’s shoulder. “Let’s get you changed. I'll take you to the station for your statement.” 

Barry leaves with Joe, looking back once towards the hallway and the darkened break room. 

 

(Sometime later, Barry will be working at Jitters again. It’ll be an early morning shift. He’ll be sorting the till when he feels someone walk up. A hand with long, elegant fingers will push a ten-dollar bill across the counter. _“Welcome to Jitters. What can I get for you?”_ Barry will ask without looking up because he’ll still be counting out the ones. The customer will say, in a very familiar and drawling voice, _“A Chocolate-Caramel Ecstasy. I think I owe you one.”_ And Barry will look up then and he will smile. 

But that’s later.)

**end.**

**Author's Note:**

> For "Coldflash Coffee Shop AU" prompt by a nonnie on tumblr. 
> 
> You can find me at @wonderingtheblue 
> 
> Hope you liked it! :)


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